


hands of an angel

by unicyclehippo



Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [41]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25644391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicyclehippo/pseuds/unicyclehippo
Summary: prompt: selcouth - unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderfulor,All it takes is the touch of a hand. One touch, and the whole world shifts on its axis.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824289
Comments: 4
Kudos: 114





	hands of an angel

It's not that Jester has never been touched before—she has! Many times! Her mama sweeping her up into a hug, a kiss, Blud lifting her up so she could steal the cookies from the kitchens, the Traveller setting his hands into hers and showing her how to cast her newest spells.

Even so...

Even _so_ , she is unprepared for how it feels to have someone’s fingers brushing over hers, slow and purposeful. Those fingers—long, clever fingers so adroit at picking a pocket or a lock, fingers that pluck tunelessly at the strings of a lute they’d brought across the city for a paying customer when she thought no one was looking, fingers that can assemble and dissemble a clawed ring in a matter of minutes—sweep over hers and then lace between Jester’s. A thumb brushes over her knuckle, taps on the bone just barely covered by skin.

Jester feels that touch shiver in her bones still, nearly an hour later. It settles in her skin, prickling. For a moment, her mind wanders and she barely notices herself taking out her notebook and pen. What it would look like if Beau’s hands were covered in stinging nettles, she wonders. What if that was why she could feel so very powerfully everywhere the girl’s fingers had traced over her skin.

As funny of an image as it is, she doesn’t feel like she’s itching. It’s more like a—tickle? The start of a sunburn, all heat and tender skin. The lightest possible brand.

A green pen dips into view. It adds a few flourished lines to the image on her page—in place of nettles, Beau’s hands are dripping in molten gold and the little stick figure the Traveller has added of Jester herself floats beside her with a bubble over her head, a jagged little OW written in it.

Jester screws up her nose. Erases the OW, replacing it with OH? Connects stick figure Jester’s hand with Beau’s.

She draws a smile on both of them.

_He-llo. What’s this?_ the Traveller’s silken voice curls into the shell of her ear. _What’s this now?_

‘I don’t know,’ Jester admits.

_Holding hands? With_ Beauregard _?_

‘Don’t say her name like that!’

_Like what?_

‘Like—like it’s a bad thing!’

_No, no, no, Jester, of course not_! he insists. His voice is a cool balm brushed over the burn. _I certainly didn’t mean for it to sound like that. You know I like her—she makes you laugh, how could I not?_

Jester’s pen scribbles messy knotted lines in the corner of her page. ‘Sorry for snapping,’ she mutters after a moment, eyes kept low to the page instead of at the cloaked figure who sits lightly on the bed. It bows a little under his weight, creaks.

_That’s alright. You’ve been doing a lot lately._ The Traveller's cloak shrugs when Jester glances up at him. _I’ve been watching,_ he says.

‘Yeah. I guess I'm tired or something.’

_Or something,_ he agrees. He doesn’t seem to move but suddenly she can see the curl of a mischievous smile from beneath the cowl of that green cloak. _S_ _o,_ he says. _Beauregard._ Her name sounds very different when he says it this time. Curious. Teasing?

Jester shifts. Her tail coils and curls beside her. ‘Mhm.’

_Stinging nettles._

‘Mhm.’

_What does that feel like?_

'Warm. And...'

_Like your hands will swell up?_

Jester laughs. 'No. Just - warm.'

_Hmm. And this?_ A translucent green hand traces the image, the golden nimbus around the Beau's hands. _I see you didn’t change that part of the drawing._

‘Well…’ Jester’s eyes flick to it, to Beau’s shining hands, lit not by any real paint but by a shining light she thinks only she can see. It's just a drawing but Jester thinks about Beau fighting with her hands lit up like miniature stars - and the way it had felt when Beau had clasped her hand, pulled her up from the floor. Did it mean something that the radiating warmth from Beau's hands was echoed in Jester's chest? ‘Maybe? I don’t know. It’s just nice. She’s—um,’

_Your best friend?_

‘Yes,’ Jester agrees, forcefully. Then, less certainly, twirling the pen between her ink splattered fingers, ‘Yes? _Obviously_. Traveller?’

_Mm_?

‘Can you hold my hand?’ She doesn’t have to ask twice, his hand moving to cover hers. Jester stares down at them, squished her lips to the side thoughtfully.

_Not the same?_

‘Not really.’

_Very curious. So it isn’t because you’re best friends—_

‘—because we’re best friends,’ Jester agrees, finishing his sentence.

_Indeed_. He waits a moment, then, _Is_ _it possible that there’s a very obvious answer that you’re… not thinking about?_

Jester frowns. ‘Like what?’

_Oh, I don’t know. It could be all manner of things. You could be allergic to something she wears, or you could be very attracted to her, or there might be residue from some sort of spell on her._

‘Do you think so?’

_Are you fixating on two of three possibilities that definitely aren’t right?_ he asks, sounding terribly amused.

‘…Maybe.’

_Jester..._

‘Don’t say _my_ name like that! I’m not stupid!’

_I know. I know that._

‘I just—I can’t—that’s not—‘

_And why not? You know your mother, your father, have both loved men and women. Your friend Yasha had a wife._

‘I know,’ Jester whispers. Draws her knees up to her chest, closes her notebook and drops her head down onto it.

The Traveller sets his hand on her shoulder, now seated beside her. _W_ _hy so distressed? Beauregard -_

_'Beau.'_

_Beau,_ he corrects himself, _is handsome and noble and brave. She makes you laugh. Why so upset? Haven’t you always wanted to fall in love with your best friend?_

‘Well, _yes_ ,’

_Then I don’t see the problem._

Jester holds herself very tight and tense and doesn’t answer. Maybe, maybe she doesn’t know what the problem is either, except she feels very scared and alone all of a sudden and even the Traveller’s hand on her shoulder isn’t helping.

_I'm sorry, Jester. I shouldn’t have pushed._

‘It’s fine.’

_Is it?_ he asks, voice gentle.

'Of course.'

_You’re crying._

Jester starts. She swipes the tears from her cheeks, sniffles. ‘No, I’m not.’

_Hmm_.

‘I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine—really! Just - a lot to think about. But you’re probably really busy and, and have heaps to think about for Travellercon so you don't need to hang out - ’

_Are you sending me away?_ he asks, and she can’t see his face but she can imagine the way his brows lift. _Y_ _our god?_

‘My _friend_.’

_Well. That_ is _all the difference, isn’t it?_ He brushes a kiss as soft as drifting fabric onto her forehead and fades into the ether, one last squeeze to her shoulder and parting words echoing in her mind. _I_ _have seen many things and have been to many worlds, my dear. But love is a splendid and wonderful journey in and of itself. I look forward to going on it with you…_


End file.
